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My first crush came when I was about 10 or 11 years old, which would put me in the 5th or 6th grade. Her name was Heather, and I can’t really recall much else about her beyond that. But at the time I thought she was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Of course, since I wasn’t a popular kid by any stretch, I never did anything about it other than silently admire her from afar. Our sole interaction came in a class project during which her hands became messy with some sort of clay or paste. She asked me to roll her sleeves up for her, as my hands were clean. It was the highlight of my week, but for her it was surely just the dorky kid doing her a meaningless favor.

I’d like to think that as I’ve aged I’ve become more sophisticated, or at least more able to express my feelings to members of the opposite sex, but that moment has pretty much repeated itself with every crush I’ve had since then. From age 10 on into adulthood I periodically crushed on various girls, never finding a way to express my feelings. I usually found myself in the role of the uncool outcast with whom they would not associate. When I was able to initiate a relationship, I seemed forever relegated to the role of the platonic friend who occasionally does a meaningless favor.

All the ridiculing and teasing, ostracization, and outright abuse was painful of course, but for the most part it rolled off my back like water from a duck. I didn’t have enough of an emotional investment in anyone to give them the ability to truly hurt me. But that eventually changed. I met Fizzy.

We spent nearly two years courting one another before we became a couple. After that came a long period of absolute bliss, and without a doubt the happiest time of my life. For the first time I was content and confident about my future. My older blogs are peppered with tales of happiness and love, and even a cursory glance at my older posts demonstrates how important she was to me. In short, Fizzy turned my world around. I dropped my guard completely, and let myself love and trust her unconditionally. Had someone asked me six months ago if she would ever lie to me or hurt me on purpose, I’d have staked my life that she wouldn’t. I knew that the same way I knew the sky is blue…she was my absolute in a world full of uncertainty. Or so I thought.

Now I don’t know what to think, because I don’t know where she is. I mentioned last time that I have it on good authority that she is not dead, but beyond that– I have no idea where she is or why she left. I hope she isn’t sick, or hurt, or in jail, or… well, I could go on forever. I really don’t know what happened, but the more that time passes, the more I am starting to realize that she isn’t in any sort of trouble, she’s just gone.

I never saw any of this coming. I didn’t even acknowledge the risk I ran by putting such faith in her, because it seemed so impossible that she could betray that trust. That only made it worse when she did, because I realized that so many years of my life were devoted to someone I wrongly believed cared about me enough to be honest and fair with me when it mattered most. I don’t pretend to have been perfect by any stretch, but I was a devoted, honest, and caring boyfriend/fiance. Am I wrong to think I deserve some sort of closure?

Still, there is something sadly liberating about having had my heart so thoroughly destroyed by Fizzy. I realize now that *anyone* can betray you, and as such I shan’t be betrayed again because I simply won’t trust again. I can’t. She has left me utterly unable to ever trust or love anyone the same way. And while I may never completely heal, I will eventually get past this pain. And then I will never, ever feel this way again, because I just won’t be emotionally capable of giving another person the power to do this to me. See what I mean? Sad, but liberating.

But first I have to get past this pain. And it seems every day I am, one tear at a time.

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Well, if I could tame all of my desires
Wait out the weather that howls in my brain
Because it seems that it’s always changing
The winds indecision, the sorrowful rain

Yeah, I was a postcard, I was a record
I was a camera until I went blind
Now I’m riding all over this island
Looking for something to open my eyes

I have a funny, somewhat paradoxical attitude towards my prowess with members of the opposite sex, and it’s hard for me to know exactly why. Sometimes I feel like I am completely inept at meeting women, and that none ever take an interest in me, while at other times it seems like there is always some girl chasing me, at least when I’m single (and occasionally when I’m not). And while most of the women I meet don’t take a romantic interest in me, enough do that I should be confident, if not downright cocky about my sex appeal.

I know that at least part of my reluctance to admit to myself that I’m attractive to women stems from my first experiences with dating. Ever since my early teens, girls have flirted with me, but I’ve never felt like I deserved it. I think part of that disbelief stems from the way the girls who actually knew me ignored me. Throughout grade school and most of high school I was always the least popular kid in my class, and no girls ever asked me out or agreed to go out with me when I was the one asking. It was only when I went somewhere else that girls occasionally showed interest. Obviously, I attributed this to the fact that the people who knew me well disliked me; strangers were more easily duped into finding me attractive.

Once I got to college, and the slate was wiped clean, and I was surrounded by others with interests similar to my own, I was surprised by how many girls were into me. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it. I’m pretty sure that all those years of being ostracized by my peers taught me to expect to be ignored by others, so I wasn’t prepared for a girl showing interest in me, hence my uncertainty. Even today, all grown up and years removed from being unpopular in any sense of the word, when a girl tells me I’m cute or fun or interesting, or anything of that nature, I don’t believe it. I feel I must somehow have tricked her into thinking so, because I know the real me is plain and uninteresting. No matter how old I get, or how often girls seem attracted to me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just a heartbeat away from being exposed as unworthy of such affection. Or that there must be something wrong with the girl saying nice things about me. That sounds really harsh, but it’s true. I honestly feel this way.

There is another aspect to this that I have yet to mention, and while using math to explain love is seldom an effective route to take, I think this time it is justified. So here goes… let’s try to graph love! Throughout my life, there have been a number of girls for whom I was utterly smitten– crushes, or what have you. Let’s plot all of those girls on a line called something like “Girls What That I Like.” Granted, I don’t crush easily or often, so it is a small line, but it is a significant line nonetheless. The other line on our graph is “Girls What That Like Me.” This is a noticeably longer line. Unfortunately, the two lines never intersect. That is pretty much the point of our math exercise. I’ve liked some girls, a bunch of girls have liked me, but none of the ones I liked ever liked me back. Until…

Fizzy was the big exception to that. I liked her, and she liked me. More than that, when she became my girlfriend, it didn’t feel as though I’d pulled a fast one on her; we seemed like a perfect fit. And she became, for better or worse, a sort of badge of honor for me. I extolled her virtues to anyone who would listen (not to mention the entire blogging world), and I guess in retrospect maybe it seemed like I was bragging. In a way, I suppose I was. I never imagined someone so wonderful would ever take an interest in me, much less agree to marry me, and I wanted to shout it from rooftops.

Whenever friends would consult me about problems with their love lives, I’d remind them that true love and happiness is possible. I’d tell them how I never thought I’d find it, but then one day it happened. I never meant to gloat or boast, but maybe it came out that way. Now I feel sort of foolish– I was obviously wrong. True love is harder to hold on to than I ever imagined, and even someone you trust and love unconditionally can unexpectedly lie to you or hurt you without reason. Even when things seem perfect, they don’t always work out.

I have no idea why I’m writing about this. Wait, yes I do. I think it has something to do with the gradual realization that I may very well be single again. I mean, I am not entirely sure that I am, and I don’t want to go into all sorts of personal details here, but Fizzy vanished without a trace (or a goodbye) about three months ago. I have it on good authority that she is not dead, but beyond that I know nothing. So yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s over, which means I no longer have an excuse to ignore flirtatious women. That sounds weird, doesn’t it? Why would I want to ignore them?? I wish I knew. I’ve always been this way– it’s as if I actively try to make women disinterested in me so I won’t feel surprised when it turns out to be the case. At least when I was with Fizzy, I had an excuse to ignore other women. I was taken. Now I have no excuse. But I still find myself doing the same thing. I think it is the lack of closure that has me in this holding pattern. Without resolution it’s hard to move on. Not to mention the fact that I don’t really want to move on. I was very happy for a long time, and the last thing I want to do now is “get back out there” and try to meet girls again, but it seems that eventually I am going to have to do so. Rats.

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I grew up about a mile and a half from a cemetery. About the time I started high school, I got into the habit of walking there and wandering about amongst the monuments and trees whenever I had any deep thinking to do. If something in my life was uncertain or upsetting, I’d usually find myself able to sort through it while meandering through the cemetery. Even throughout college, anytime I was visiting my parents and had some school issue, career question, or girl problem, I’d hike out to Pleasant Hill and contemplate that which was on my mind.

Cemeteries are possessed of a serenity that is lacking from most other places in this world, and seemingly one of the last places people treat with any sort of dignity or respect. That is, when you even meet another person there, as a cemetery is also a wonderful place for solitude.

Nowadays, the nearest one to me is Oakland’s Mountain View Cemetery. The higher up the hills you go, the grander the markers and mausoleums become, and the more familiar the names become, too. Merritt, Wheeler, Peralta– it’s a veritable who’s who, or rather who was once who, of Oakland history. I sometimes sneak in after closing time and roam about under the moonlight. I’ve spent many nights perched atop various mausoleums, a living gargoyle, motionless except for the occasional movement required to sip from a flask. The Black Dahlia is buried in that cemetery; her grave makes me feel profoundly sad, as though I’ve already outlived my allotted lifespan.

Maybe you are like most of the friends to whom I’ve mentioned this, and you find it creepy or morbid that I like to walk through a burial ground when I need to think, but it’s just something I’ve done for so long that it’s a part of me. To this day, whenever I pass a cemetery, almost as a reflex I momentarily reflect on my life and the events that have shaped me into the person I am today.

In recent years I’ve had a long run of good luck, and I haven’t had much confusion or sorrow to assimilate, but all the recent turmoil in my life has left me with a lot of unsorted thoughts. Yesterday I spent the better part of the afternoon drifting though the vast expanses of Arlington Cemetery.

Seeing row after row of headstones, endless lists of names and dates, and all the loving memories etched into stone, I am reminded that some day I too will be laid to rest in such a place. It helps me put my own problems in perspective, and reinforces the idea that life is ephemeral, and meant to be enjoyed. Whatever task, deadline, girl, loss, or woe looms over me somehow becomes less frightening when taken in that big picture context.

I’ve never been one to dwell on the past, and I tend to look to the unknown of the future with gusto. I’ve been a bit reluctant to do so of late, but I know I have no other choice. As Seneca wrote (though I can’t swear I remember this verbatim) “Fates lead the willing, and drags along the reluctant.” Or something like that. Perhaps more fitting, shown in the picture below, are the words I found etched into a statue outside the National Archives– What is Past is Prologue.

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I wake up every day to find her back again
Screaming my name through the astral plane

Were I to list my favorite bands, nearly all of them would be bands that no longer exist, or if they do, have stopped releasing albums. Joy Division, The Smiths, Pulp, Suede– all no more. Even my favorite local band, The Aislers Set, seems to have stopped recording and touring. Were I pressed to list favorite bands still in existence I’d say Radiohead, Arcade Fire, Franz Ferdinand, and Bright Eyes but none of those bands hold sway over me quite like those in the first list. While I cannot necessarily say they are hands down my favorite band of all time, no band better represents my coming-of-age years than Suede.

Oh, but when she is calling, here in my head
Can you hear her calling, and what she has said?
Oh, but when she is calling, here in my head
It’s like a new generation calling
Can you hear it call?

Suede really did usher in a new generation of music, and were arguably the original Brit Pop band. Their success heralded a radical stylistic shift in the sound of British rock, one that had last shifted with the advent of The Stone Roses, and paved the way for bands such as Blur, Oasis, Pulp, and Elastica. Suede was Britain’s answer to American grunge rock– a throwback to the glam days of David Bowie and Roxy Music tempered by the ‘it’s okay to be an outsider’ mentality of The Smiths– and made an ideal rallying point for misfits and dreamers the world over.

Suede’s best songs, taken together, form an unending narrative of of detached lovers, sexual experimentation, drug use, and life outside the lines of traditional British society, and “New Generation” is no exception.

And like all the boys in all the cities
I take the poison, take the pity
But she and I, we soon discovered
We’d take the pills to find each other

“New Generation” is from the Dog Man Star album, a massive, larger-than-life masterpiece of epic rock and roll, and quite possibly the single greatest rock album ever recorded, at least by my reckoning. It is definitely in my top five all time, and is probably my favorite of all. It soars to heights I’ve never heard another album attain.

Though this entry is really about one song, I would be remiss if I did not say a bit about the significance of the album. Dog Man Star is a record already heavily laced with melancholy themes and sounds, and the story surrounding its release only serves to amplify that despair. After a Mercury Prize winning debut album, and a brilliant EP, Suede had fans and critics alike eager for their second full-length album. Almost at the same time as the record was reported to have been completed, Bernard Butler, the guitarist and half of the song-writing team, left the band. Dog Man Star would seemingly be the last we would ever hear from Suede.

Things grew worse– it became unclear if the album would even be released– legal matters were likely to keep it shelved indefinitely. There was never a lower point in the life of a Suede fan. (Meanwhile, bands like Blur and Oasis, formally relegated to the back burner, took the implosion of Suede as an opportunity to rise to the forefront of the Brit Pop movement, and cash in on the next wave of British musical invaders to conquer the American airwaves.) Eventually, the album was released, and it was a huge success, albeit possibly the last effort by so promising a band.

I wake up every day, to find her back again
Breeding disease on her hands and knees
While the styles turn and the books still burn
It’s there in the platinum spires
It’s there in the telephone wires
And we spread it around to the techno sound
And like a new generation rise

To complete the story of Suede, much like in the song, we fans woke up one morning to find them back again. They didn’t break up. Instead they launched a crazy guitarist search and wound up with some teenaged Bernard Butler look-alike. I will not lie– skepticism ran rampant in the circles of Suede fandom, and when it was announced that Suede was to have a new single in stores, it was big news. The song was to be called “Trash.” Would it be just that? I remember standing at the cash register of the local record shop with the single in my hand, and my heart full of anticipation. I came home and fearfully popped “Trash” into my CD player. While totally different than Butler-era Suede, it was utterly fantastic in its own right, and it instantly became my anthem for that summer.

Sadly, post-Butler Suede is remembered best today not for their brief resurgence but for their subsequent failure, and even though I know in hindsight how it’s going to end (watch out for that iceberg, Suede!), it’s still nice to reminisce about the moment in time when, to a new generation of youth, Suede had in seemingly miraculous fashion survived what seemed at the time to have been a cataclysmic loss. Perhaps there really was hope for the rest of us.

It’s like a new generation calling
Can you hear it call?
And I’m losing myself, losing myself to you

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Restlessly I searched for her thousands, hundreds of ways.
Suddenly I turned, and there she was in the receding light.

There was a time in my life at which I gave up on love. Up until that point I had engaged in what I felt to be a normal love life– I had dated lots of girls, crushed on lots more, and had a handful of full-fledged girlfriends, but I had never fallen in love with anyone. Now, I do not mean to say that I ever made a conscious decision to “give up;” I did not leap to my feet one day and declare, “I give up on love!” or do anything dramatic of the sort. It was more as if I gradually resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never capture that elusive feeling called love. Without making an active decision to do so, and without even really realizing it at the time, I didn’t date anyone for nearly a year. I turned my focus instead to my own needs, friendships, and business concerns, and had a pretty successful, if celibate, time of things. Then I stepped into an elevator and met the girl with whom I would fall in love.

Somehow, more than six years have passed since I met Sue. Our relationship has been something of a storybook one, but we are about to face our first big challenge. For the next year, she is going to be living in Los Angeles. For my geographically-challenged readers, that is about 400 miles from where we currently live, and where I will remain. I have never been a part of a long-distance relationship before, and I don’t know what to expect. Our plan is to take things as they come, whatever that means.

In the meantime, here at last is a picture of the happy couple. For whatever reason, I have not shared many pictures of myself in this blog (and, before today, none of Sue) but this seems like the right time to finally acquiesce to the requests of more than a few readers.

PICTURE DELETED

That was taken on Christmas Eve of last year. Regular readers will recall that as the date of a most exciting knife fight, chronicled here.

Also– no I do not wear a zoot suit on a daily basis. It is pure coincidence that in one of the only other pictures I have ever shared of myself here I am wearing the same ridiculous outfit. I swear.

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Dream dream, even for a little while
Dream dream, filling up an idle hour
Fade away, radiate.
I sit by and watch the river flow
I sit by and watch the traffic go
Imagine something of your very own
Something you can have and hold
I’d build a road in gold
Just to have some dreaming
Dreaming is free

Years ago, I used to sneak out late at night and climb onto the rooftops of the tallest buildings I could find, just to sit and stare at the near-empty city below me. Everything I knew to be broken or dirty at surface level took on a feeling of newness when seen from afar; especially when basked in moonlight. It was on those rooftops, so long ago, where I first began to understand myself as an individual, and to wrestle with the notion of my mortality and how to make the best use of whatever brief time was allotted me on earth.

I had very little going for me at the time– I had few friends, my family was very poor, I’d never had a girlfriend, and I had no clear picture of what I was to do with my life. What ambitions, goals, and dreams I had then were simple and not very well-articulated, and although on some level I believed in my ability to achieve them, that belief was vague, and I never knew for sure if it was justified.

I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’m no longer the unpopular, awkward kid shunned by his peers, nor must I hoard pennies and nickels in an attempt to come up with enough money to buy something to eat; I’ve even kissed a girl or two. More significantly, the dreams and fantasies of childhood have given way to the realities of an adult life. But still I remember those nights, waiting for the sunrise with my head full of hopes, fears, and questions; I still remember my dreams.

Some people value money or success before all else, and only with an unlimited bankroll can they truly say they have “made it.” Others measure their success by how true they are to their spiritual beliefs, or through devotion to their family. My chief dream, the one I thought of most, and hoped would be fulfilled more than any other, was that I would one day find true love. Though I probably could not have verbalized it, I think that even at an early age I subconsciously knew that everything else I found myself wishing for would fall into place were I in love.

If ever I saw anything more than cheese in the moon above me, it was the disembodied face of an unknown girl I would one day love. For years she remained just that and nothing more, an abstract construct of my mind, and eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I’d never find her. I’d instead aspire to a fulfilling life of intellectual pursuits and artistic endeavors. Then, once I’d stopped looking, I found her.

When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain he wept,
for there were no more worlds left to conquer.

What do you do when one day you wake up and realize all of your dreams have become reality? While I’m not sure I have conquered anyone or anything, if I wept, mine would be tears of joy. I make more money than I need doing a job I enjoy– a job that brings happiness into the lives of other people, and affords me the opportunity to give work and money to those who need it. Moreover, I have ample free time to indulge whatever whimsical, philanthropic notion that may pop into my admittedly eccentric mind, be it driving around offering rides to strangers, sending wedding gifts to people chosen at random from Macy’s wedding gift registry computer (actually Fizzy’s idea, that one), or even just normal volunteer work at the local food bank.

Above all else, the most important dream of them all came true. I’m in love with a best friend who loves me back.

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Currently Playing: The Flamingos – I Only Have Eyes for You

I think this is a lovely sounding song, and it’s definitely “up there” on my mental list of favorite love songs; probably on the list of favorite songs in general. Beautiful though it is, there is a spooky element to the song. Part of it is the music– there is a ghostly quality to it that is hard to capture in words. Maybe this is something only I take away from this song, but my ear definitely hears some other-worldly overtones going on in there someplace.

Possibly eerie music aside, the message of the song is unquestionably heart-meltingly adoring:

My love must be a kind of blind love
I can’t see anyone but you.

You are here and so am I
Maybe millions of people go by,
But they all disappear from view.
And I only have eyes for you.

When you lose track of all around you, and can only focus on the object of your affection in front of you, you know you have found true love. In my experience, moments like the above while rare and wonderful, do happen. You find yourself staring starry-eyed at a certain someone, oblivious to all else around you, utterly overpowered by emotion.

I have no doubt in my mind that love is the most powerful emotion known to man, and the guiding force behind nearly all actions we undertake as a race.

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My recent song blogs have digressed into personal anecdotes, musings on love, or commentaries on the gap between the always fantastic life one hopes to lead and the often mundane life one actually does lead. In short, I’ve strayed away from the original concept behind the posts, namely dissecting a song I find to be especially well-written. In what I hope will be harbinger of song-related song posts to come, today I will share with you the second of my triumvirate of favorite songs; I already wrote about one in a previous post.

Currently Playing: Pulp – Disco 2000

Well we were born within an hour of each other
Our mothers said we could be sister and brother
Your name is Deborah, Deborah,
It never suited ya.
Oh they said that when we grew up,
we’d get married, and never split up.
We never did it, although often I thought of it.

“Disco 2000” is another example of an uptempo, danceable song that sounds happy from a musical standpoint, but is lyrically a fairly somber and serious song.

I said let’s all meet up in the year 2000

Won’t it be strange when we’re all fully grown?

Be there 2 o’clock by the fountain down the road.

I never knew that you’d get married

I would be living down here on my own

On that damp and lonely
Thursday years ago.

Really, what more need I say? Jarvis Cocker, Pulp’s lead singer and songwriter, pretty much said it all right there. He continues the tale, recalling his unspoken crush on Deborah throughout their school years together:

You were the first girl at school to get breasts.

Martin said that you were the best.

The boys all loved you but I was a mess
I had to watch them try to get you undressed

We were friends that was as far as it went

I used to walk you home sometimes but it meant,

Oh it meant nothing to you.

’Cause you were so popular.



Deborah do you recall?
Your house was very small,
with wood chip on the wall.
When I came around to call,
you didn’t notice me at all.

For whatever reason, while this song is a positive dance floor anthem in most parts of the world, it never climbed the American pop charts. Unless you found yourself at some niche Britpop club back in the ’90s, á la San Francisco’s Pop Scene, you have probably never heard this song, which is a pity, for it is, at least in my opinion, one of the greatest pop songs of all time. I hope you’ve clicked the above link and heard it. Even if you don’t share my opinion, you can’t deny that it is danceable to the extreme.

It’s also enigmatic in its finale:

What are you doing Sunday baby?

Would you like to come and meet me maybe?

You can even bring your baby.


Will Deborah meet the protagonist on Sunday? Is her baby her husband, or is it her child? Has she divorced, and is she at last ready to embark on romance with the boy who has adored her since childhood?

A final note, and a personal one (I can’t escape it, can I?), this is the song that made Fizzy and I, well, Fizzy and I. We met in an elevator five years ago, almost to the day, and in the time it took the elevator to rise eight floors, we ascertained that this was both of our favorite songs. And then we fell in love. Okay, more stuff happened in between, but seriously– thank you Jarvis Cocker! I knew Pulp could do nearly anything, but I never knew Pulp could do anything like that…

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In the comments section of my last post I promised a commenter that I would write about a Frank Sinatra song today. Choosing one Sinatra song about which to write took some time. My initial thought was to go with Summer Wind, as that was the song I’d traditionally play for my roadies and security agents before the start of a fraternity party. We all knew the rest of the night would be upbeat pop and rock music, so something a bit more mellow from Ol’ Blue Eyes made for a nice buffer before the onslaught of drunken revelers came charging into the venue. While Summer Wind is certainly a fine song, and would have made for an interesting blog, I’ve instead opted to go with:

Currently Playing: Frank Sinatra – The Way You Look Tonight

Now, after a few years together, I imagine most couples start bandying about the idea of a wedding, and this is by no means any sort of official announcement, but yeah, Sue (Fizzy) and I have whiled away some of childhood’s happy hour by imagining what our wedding may be like, were we ever to have one. The Way You Look Tonight has been mentioned more than once as a potential “first dance” song. I don’t think I’ve ever DJ’ed a wedding at which this was the first dance, which is something of a surprise to me; I think it makes for a great one. It’s fast enough to avoid having to stand doing the rotating-hug-dance in front of all one’s friends and relatives, but it isn’t so fast as to leave one breathless by the end. It’s also romantic, and evocative of many ideas associated with one’s wedding day– looking one’s best, a memorable night, being in love, and so forth.

One evening not long ago, Fizzy and I were sauntering through San Francisco’s Union Square after a romantic dinner at some cozy eatery, and this song began playing through the park’s loudspeakers; it completed the evening. We danced to it right there in the park, amidst a mixture of stares of both incredulity and admiration from what few people were out and about at that hour, but we felt anonymous enough and didn’t mind. A few people clapped when we finished, and it definitely made for a grand topper to an already wonderful evening. Moreover, it cemented this song in our minds– we finally had an “our song.”

Today’s Question: What will/ did you dance to first at your wedding?

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Blogging is a funny thing. You post your thoughts, ideas, and sometimes even personal feelings, and bare your soul to the world. Strangers surf in at random, and in some small way they become a part of your life.

Realistically, none of us knows much about any of the people whose journals we read regularly, though we learn little details here and there, and in some ways bond with one another.

Many people use their blog as an outlet for heartbreak. I am currently blessed with a wonderful relationship, one that I feel confident will last a lifetime, but I can still relate, and even empathize, with the sorrow of others. It’s an awful feeling when someone you care about is gone. I’ve never been through a bad break-up, but I have had my share of heartbreaks, not to mention heavy crushes that didn’t pan out. It can take a long time for the pain to subside, and some of it never really goes away; rather, it becomes a part of who you are. You take it with you, and learn from it, and in time you’re a more complete person with a much better idea of who you really are, and what you really want. With luck, one day you find the right person, and suddenly it was all worthwhile.

So if you’re in the middle of something new and difficult, it may be the end of the familiar, but it’s also the beginning of something unknown. The past is comforting, but it’s the future we live to see. Just don’t be afraid to cry in the meantime.

Today’s Question: Who or what last made you cry?

I last cried when my father passed away. I no longer cry, though I miss him no less than before.